Thunderbolt
by Hayden Cerina Clemens
Summary: I couldn't resist... The Alex Rider series practically begs for parodies. I'm not sure where this is going exactly so please review and tell me what you think should happen next! If I use your suggestion, I will credit you!
1. Is there a Mark there?

**I do not own any of the characters in this story... they all belong to Anthony Horowitz... well, except for the guy on the bike... oh and the bush assassin... I made them up**

* * *

Alex Rider was riding his really awesome bike home from school one day thinking about how life for him was okay right now because he wasn't doing any pesky spy missions and he could finally have some down time to catch up on all his homework.

It was summertime, if one could really call it summer in London, but he had to go to school anyway because he missed a whole bunch of days for his spy missions, only the school doesn't know he's a spy… which is interesting because when he gets arrested and the police-guys pull up his record he immediately comes up as "Special Status" or whatever, but his school still thinks he just has a majorly weak immune system or something (they're gullible).

Anyway, he was on his way home from school when all of a sudden a man tried to shoot him, but Alex didn't die. Because just as soon as the bullet would have ripped through his scull, he was hit by a car. But he didn't die, because the car wasn't a car at all, but another bike! And the bullet that would have killed Alex (but didn't) scraped past the man's shoulder.

The man that was on the bike that crashed into Alex at the exact moment that he almost got killed by the bullet (but didn't) was now very angry, because he was already having a bad day, and well, getting shot in the shoulder doesn't usually make for a dramatic improvement (I don't actually know this, since I have never been shot in the shoulder, but I am speculating. If you are reading this and have been shot in the shoulder, feel free to offer input).

Just as Alex was struggling to his feet, the man who got shot in the shoulder picked up Alex's bike and threw it into the middle of traffic (using his arm that hadn't gotten shot).

But it was rush hour and traffic was not moving very fast so Alex was able to safely retrieve his bike from the middle of the street. The bike was unharmed. Then the man who had gotten shot in the shoulder got very angry and jumped back on his bike and rode out into the middle of the street straight at Alex.

But Alex was to fast for him and pulled a wicked awesome karate move with a Japanese name on him and then hopped onto his own, undamaged bike and rode away.

* * *

Meanwhile the guy with the gun was sitting in the lone bush on the side of the highway. Only, it wasn't a real bush, it was a custom-made assassin bush with a compact seat and lots of compartments for bullets and different types of guns and stuff. The whole apparatus was actually much larger than the bush itself, but since the bush was actually a hologram it didn't really matter.

The problem was that the high velocity of the bullet had severed the hologram's projector. As the assassin tried to fix it, he realized that the people that had made it probably should have taken that into account when making it and made a mental note to check the warrantee that had been emailed to him when he'd bought the bush off eBay.

* * *

When Alex got to his house, Jack was out buying groceries and there was a message on the machine. He listened to it. It was some guy looking for a Mark. Alex didn't know a Mark. He erased the message. It was rather exciting.

He was hungry, so he decided to make himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He was in the middle of discovering that they were out of jelly when the phone rang. Alex immediately dropped what he was doing and went to the phone. He paused before picking it up, overcome by an ominous shadow of apprehension. What if it was MI6?

He picked it up.

"Hello? Is there a Mark there?" asked a deep and mysterious voice.

Alex sighed with what was a mixture of relief and disappointment. "No. There is no Mark here. Stop calling me."

"You will be very sorry."

"I'm sure," Alex responded, bored. He heard a click. He assumed they had hung up, but then he heard another click. Then another. His spy-instincts immediately kicked in and he threw the phone as far away from himself as he possibly could, and then ducked down behind the counter.

BOOM!

The phone blew up.

Alex smiled to himself as the phone started ringing again. It was actually a magnetically reconstructing phone that Smithers had given him. It was not the first time it had blown up, nor was it the most exciting. The first time Alex had had it to his ear. His head had blown up.

Thankfully, he had a magnetically reconstructing head. Smithers had given him that as well.

The phone rang again, jolting him from his reverie.

He picked it up, less hesitantly this time. MI6 wasn't going to call. He needed to stop being paranoid and move on with his life and he knew it.

"Alex."

It was MI6.


	2. The Hard Way

Once again, Alex found himself sitting across from the very gray man in the very gray office in the very gray building on the very gray street… You get the idea.

The dark haired woman popped yet another peppermint into her mouth before saying, "We called."

"I know. I came," Alex responded darkly.

"We would prefer if you had just answered the phone," she said, with the usual distress in her voice.

"You would have asked me to come. There is nothing you can say on the phone."

The gray man behind the gray desk in the gray office (etc., etc…) cleared his throat and finally spoke up. "He's right, Ms. Jones." Then, turning to Alex, he said, "We were sorry to hear about your unfortunate encounter with Mr. Jon Richard Heinrich Liechtenstein Armadillo the Third, Jr."

"Who?"

Blunt cleared his throat again. "The man in the street today. You crashed into him on your bike."

"I was almost shot in the head! He threw my bike into the street. I was lucky to get out of there alive!" Alex was appalled.

"He is a shady character with an extensive court record but a surprisingly short criminal record. We get the feeling the court cases were all based on reasonable suspicion but without concrete evidence, there's nothing anyone can prove. The other problem is that he's quite wealthy and famous –."

"I've never heard of him," Alex interrupted.

"Oh, well. He's very famous, and well, if we were to start a full-on investigation on him only to find nothing, it wouldn't reflect well on this organization."

"Heinrich Liechtenstein? Is he German?"

"No, Russian," Ms. Jones supplied.

"Aren't they always?" Alex muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Anyway," Blunt continued. "It's actually quite a convenient coincidence."

"Isn't it always?" Alex muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Well, it's quite a convenient coincidence, because we also spotted the assassin in the cheap holographic bush on the side of the street that tried to shoot you. He's also a Russian bad guy. He's a worse bad guy than Jon Richard Heinrich Liechtenstein Armadillo the Third, Jr. so you must be protected from him."

"Why? I know karate."

"He works for SCORPIA."

"No!" Alex had a history with SCORPIA that had ended in his attempted assassination by a sniper's bullet. He had narrowly escaped that. "Okay. I guess I have to lay low for a while so you can smooth that over. That means I have to work for you again, doesn't it? I am tired of being tricked into working for you against my will!"

"We know." Blunt just didn't seem to care. "It's just that you're perfect for this particular job."

Ms. Jones looked up as if on cue. "We've actually recently been doing some research into Armadillo the Third, Jr.'s habits: tracking his phone calls, reading his email, that sort of thing. It seems that he'll be traveling to Australia this weekend, where he'll be meeting with the Prime Minister."

"Um… Wasn't that on the news last week?" Alex askes

"Well, yes, but here at MI6 we like to do things the hard way."

"Ah," he said, and left it at that.

* * *

Meanwhile, the SCORPIA assassin was on his home computer looking through his old email for the warranty on the holographic bush. Except not really, because he didn't have any old email. He had just cleaned out his inbox. And now, as he debated whether or not to dial Julia Rothman's successor, Monstressor Jacques Pierre, he cursed his tidy habits.


	3. John Doe

Note: I still do not own Alex Rider or any of Anthony Horowitz's characters... they belong to Anthony Horowitz. Also, this will be the last chapter addition for about two weeks because I will be without access to a computer, so drink it in and make it last lol!!

"Vladimir Armadillo the Third, Jr. was raised under normal enough circumstances. He was born to a middle class family in Russia and lived a pretty much normal life until he was thirteen, when both his parents tragically died. He was forced to move in with his uncle, who, I'm afraid, wasn't very good to him.

"On his sixteenth birthday, he escaped and boarded a train to Berlin. When he got there, he insisted that he be called Jon Richard Heinrich Liechtenstein, and when he turned eighteen, he had it changed legally."

Ms. Jones paused to eat a peppermint and Blunt picked up.

"He's going to Sydney this Thursday to meet with the Prime Minister and discuss distribution of a new product, called the Thunderbolt. It's a sort of personal assistant, see. It's meant to replace cell phones and computers all at once. Rather a revolutionary idea, I might say."

Ms. Jones stepped in. "Which is exactly why we're concerned. It's almost – "

"Too good to be true?" Alex finished.

"How did you know?"

"Ah, just…there seems to be a trend."

"Anyway, like I mentioned, we have reason to suspect that there is a slightly more underhanded layer to this act of charity. We want you to check it out. You'll be going under cover as John Doe, Armadillo's personal assistant."

"Wait a second. 'John Doe'? What kind of code name is that??" Alex couldn't believe his ears.

"It was as inconspicuous a name as we could think of," Ms. Jones didn't see the problem.

"Well yes, that's precisely the problem! It's the most inconspicuous name _everybody_ thinks of!"

"So what's the problem?"

"Nothing. Never mind." Alex sighed and rubbed his head.

Ms. Jones was concerned for Alex. She usually was. Still, she decided against her instincts and shook it off. She would, as usual, send him into the field and risk his life… again. Ah, well.

* * *

The SCORPIA assassin's hand hovered tentatively over the phone at his desk. It was shaking like a volcano just before it erupts. It was fear of the eruption that kept his hand a secure distance away from the phone. Yet he couldn't tear it away. The words of his late mother echoed through his head. "You have to fight to get what you want. If you let people push you around, you're never going to make anything of yourself."

His stomach rumbled. He decided to make himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, just like his mother always had. He discovered with dismay that he was out of jelly.

Just then the phone rang. The assassin nearly leapt out of his skin, thinking that it might be SCORPIA. A quick glance at the Caller ID calmed him. But, he answered, "Al's Pizza Palace," just in case.

"Is there a Mark there?"

"No."

"You will be very sorry."

"Uh-huh." He hung up and walked away. He had taken exactly six steps when a loud bang threw him forward, knocking him unconscious.

* * *

MI6 provided a ride for Alex to Armadillo the Third, Jr.'s business. They had already arranged things with the HR, so getting the job wasn't going to be a problem. "He's just a kid looking for a way to make some money before the summer's out," Ms. Jones had said on the phone.

As they pulled up to the front entrance, Alex was reminded of the "Royal & General." Because it wasn't fancy, it almost made more of a statement. It was as if the company said, "Our building doesn't need to look fancy, because everybody already knows who we are." But the interior was a different matter entirely. A grand red carpet with gold embroidery scrolled forward from the doorway to the receptionist's desk.

A young woman (about twenty-five, Alex estimated) with fair hair and a dazzling smile checked him in. "Ah yes. Mr… Doe? Is that how it's pronounced? D-o-e? John?"

"Erm, yes. My first name is Jonathon, I go by Alex, my middle name."

"How lovely. I'll escort you to the Hiring Office." She gathered a portfolio of forms. "Right this way, Alex."


	4. Really Extraodinary

**Here's the latest installment. Sorry it took so long. I still don't own any of this... Except for Mrs. Bardsworth. She's mine.**

On the linoleum floor of a kitchen in a house in southern London, an assassin lay unconscious. We'll come back to him – I was just letting you know he was still there.

* * *

The receptionist made two lefts then a right, then stopped at a wooden door with a small, gold-colored placard that read "Human Resources/Public Relations". Alex felt a small shudder pass through him. He had once had a less-than-pleasant experience with a PR lady.

When the receptionist pushed open the wooden door, it did not lead to an office like Alex expected. Instead, it led to yet another hallway. At the third door on the left, the woman stopped again. She did not knock, she just opened it. This door had an office behind it. A grey-haired woman with coke-bottle glasses looked up at Alex.

"Of course, of course..." she looked down for a long time at a paper in front of her. "Don Joe… Come on in. Sit down, sit down!"

Alex ignored the name slip – It wasn't like it was actually his name anyway. "It's Alex, actually," he said.

"This is Mrs. Bardsworth. She is our Human Resources Consultant. She has been with the company for over sixty years," the receptionist announced loudly.

Mrs. Bardsworth looked up. "What?" she asked, squinting at the doorway.

"You look lovely today, Mrs. Bardsworth," the receptionist said.

"Huh?"

"You look lovely!"

Mrs. Bardsworth made a face like she had just been slapped and raised her chin before responding, "Those kinds of comments are neither necessary nor appreciated young lady. Thank you. That will be all."

The receptionist looked at Alex and rolled her eyes before leaving.

The old woman cleared her throat. Then she cleared her throat again. "Now, Mister Joe…"

"It's John, actually. John Doe. But I go by Alex, if you don't mind."

Mrs. Bardsworth looked puzzled. Alex was beginning to think that she often looked that way. "That's what I said."

"Okay." Alex knew better than to fight that one. He had larger issues to worry about.

"I see here your references are excellent. Really extraordinary." She was reviewing several papers that were spread out before her. "You seem to have every qualification to do the job you're applying for. The next step of course, is to have you checked out by Armadillo the Third, Jr. himself."

Alex nodded. MI6 had told him about this part. They were also the ones that had arranged all of his forms. Alex, in fact, hadn't the slightest idea of what was on them and was relieved to hear of their adequacy.

"Oh, wait." Mrs. Bardsworth started searching through her papers. "You seem to be missing your letter of recommendation. Your references are excellent – as are your qualifications – but without that letter… well, we need the letter. It can be from anyone who can vouch for your qualifications. Just have them email it to me by the end of the week and then we'll have you back in. Sound okay?"

Alex couldn't believe his ears. He was so stunned that he was barely able to utter a "Yeah, sure" in response. How could MI6 abandon him like this? How could they be so careless as to forget that he would need a letter of recommendation?! He knew now what he should have known before. He was going to have to handle things himself. He cleared his throat. "Actually Mrs. Bardsworth, I think the letter was attached to some other document. Do you mind if I have a look at the file?"

He leaned forward and before she could respond, drawing back his fist. He swung it with all the power he could muster, not actually believing what he was about to do. But, just as his fist was and inch away from the old woman's nose, Mrs. Bardsworth snored. She had fallen asleep.

That was convenient. He rolled her chair back from the desk and immediately started working through her computer. He finally found what he was looking for, the layout of the building. But it wasn't one of the normal maps that he could have asked of the receptionist, which would have only shown the parts of the building which were meant to be visited. This was a maintenance map. Since maintenance doesn't yield to privacy, it covered the _whole_ building. And most importantly, it showed him where Armadillo the Third, Jr.'s personal office was.


End file.
